The White-Haired Demon Child
by person959597
Summary: Gintoki Sakata had been on the battlefield for as long as he could remember. All he knew was that he wanted to live. Until Shouyo came along at least. Then he had a family. And all he wanted was to be with his family. And then he killed Shouyo, and with it the bond he had with his family. Now he has the Yorozuya. He hopes to dear god he can keep this family together.
1. He was born on the battlefield

**Disclaimer: In no way do I own Gintoki.**

Gintoki Sakata was born on the battlefield. He didn't know how he survived. Maybe some kind old woman had picked him up when he was a baby and cared for him for a while before abandoning him to that very battlefield once again. Or maybe her village was burned down like so many others had been, and he'd managed to survive. Maybe there was no old lady at all. Maybe he had parents at one point. Maybe he had a mother and father, and some older brothers or sisters.

Maybe. Maybe not. All he remembered was the battlefield. The corpses. Scavenging for any little bit of food he could find, and scarfing it down like it was his last meal no matter how disgusting it was, usually caked in dirt, grime, blood, whatever else, and crushed into some form barely recognizable as food. But no matter what, if he found something he thought he could eat, he ate it, because food was so hard to come by and there weren't enough kind people in the world for one to find him and feed him. He had to feed himself.

At some point, he got caught in the midst of a live first thing he noticed was the smell. It was putrid. It stunk like death, which he realized fell hand in hand with everywhere else he went. Except the death-smell seemed to be multiplied by ten when the battle was happening. The metallic scent of blood was fresh, all mixed in with the disgusting aroma of men who'd struggled for their lives for who knows how long, no access to a bath, and just spending their days getting dirtier and dirtier with the blood and iniards of their slain enemies clinging to what they wore. On top of that, vomit, shit, piss. It seemed to go mostly unacknowledged, but many men vomited on the battlefield. It was a hard sensation to take after all. And if they needed to piss or shit, there wasn't time to go running off for a bathroom break, they did it right where they stood and fought as they did so.

The aroma of battle left his head pounding and his ears ringing. He didn't quite get what was going on, but he knew he wanted to live. That was all he wanted, to be alive. And here, with blades constantly swinging and killing everything in their path, he would not be able to live if he did not pick up a blade himself.

And so, just as he looted the corpses for food, he took a sword, the first one he saw, and took it with him, along with the smashed onigiri soaked in blood and dirt, and the little note attached. He didn't know what the note said, so he just threw it away.

The weight of a blade was heavy. Not literally. Literally, it did leave a little brunt on him, but he could take it. But knowing that he had something to protect himself with weighed on him a bit. He had something to fight with. But would he be able to fight. He took this sword. Could he really use it? Could he bring himself to be apart of that gross smell. Would he be able to hold it up against another, of a man twice his size, and probably triple his strength while his ears rang and his head pounded with the intensity of the battle? What if this was all for nothing. He would probably die anyway.

But at least he had a shot.

The next time he encountered a battlefield, the men, still focused mostly on themselves, took more notice of him. A little white-haired boy with a blade. They swung at him, and desperate to live, muscles trembling as he held up the sword, he fought back, and slayed whoever dared an attempt at the life he worked so hard to keep. All he wanted was to be alive. He wasn't ready to die. He knew the scent; the gross mix of war all encompassed in an aroma. The taste; the metallic and dirty flavor of the bloody onigiri he ate to survive. The sound, and appearance of a battlefield, of men slaying each other for a reason he'd yet to comprehend, and now, as he ran his blade through the throat of a man, the feel of death. And he wasn't ready to join it.

Somehow, just somehow he survived. And he came out stronger. Feeling powerful in knowing that yes, he could wield that blade. He could use it to protect himself. He saved his own life. He had defeated death. Just as he would time and time again as he wandered; scrounging more corpses for something, anything he could eat, and got caught in more and more battles, his muscles developing and coming in tune with the feeling of his sword moving through human flesh. The sword was still heavy. But he knew, that more than just his body, but his heart now, could take it.

At some point, people started to recognize him as a demon child. An imp of some sort perhaps. Maybe a tiny devil? He didn't care. People told stories of the white-haired, red-eyed demon child who could be found on battlefields, nonchalantly sitting atop corpses, as he ate the bodies of the dead soldiers, a sword, too big for his body always held close to chest as he ate. Close enough he figured, though most of the time, he was actually eating some onigiri he looted off a corpse rather than the dead body itself. Eating a body? That was too morbid, even for him.

"I came after hearing about a corpse-eating demon." It might've been the first time someone had ever spoken to him. If you don't count the screams of rage of men on the battlefield, or the occasional aghast woman yelling for he, the demon-child not to come any closer as he passed through a village, only to leave when stones started being thrown. "Would that be you?" The man asked him. He had long hair, and a sword on his hip. He didn't smell the same as the battlefield. "A rather cute demon." The man ruffled his hair, and he flinched. No one had touched him like that before.

The man's name was Shouyou. It was the first time Gintoki experienced kindness.


	2. He had both a blade and a family

**Disclaimer: I put a disclaimer in the first chapter, it counts for the whole story.**

Life at the temple school with Shouyo and the other students was a lot different from wandering fields of dead bodies, and fighting to stay alive. It was easy. Everything was so easy. Food was there. All the time, and it tasted good. Never was there a hint of metallic flavor in the food there. Not a speck of dirt either, and the onigiri usually kept their original shape, not crushed at all. He didn't have to look through dead bodies, and hope to dear god, and he didn't even believe in god, that one, just one of them would have something to eat with them.

When he fought now, he enjoyed it just a little. It was no longer a battle to the death. He wasn't swinging his sword, and killing, and killing, and avoiding, and blocking, and killing some more, just to live anymore. He still didn't like it though. Even if he had a little fun play fighting with the other kids, something Shouyo referred to as "sparring", it would always be a reminder of living in a war zone, and constantly struggling to stay alive. Shouyo said he could give up his blade if he wanted to. Said that he could start anew as a normal kid.

But Gintoki knew better than to take that kind of offer. Knowing little about society as he may, he knew enough. He'd been through enough villages, and had been stoned enough times to know that he'd never get to be a normal kid. His hair was white, his eyes were red, and he killed, looted, and didn't feel particularly sorry for any of it. He was a demon-child. He accepted that.

He didn't particularly like death. He hated the idea of going up to it and greeting it with a kiss more than anything, which was why he fought so hard to live. But he had no problem dealing with it. It was the only constant in his life up until then after all. So he cut off a man's head. He stabbed that man through the heart. He cut out his throat, he stabbed his stomach, he took out an arm, a leg, a dick, a bunch of their fingers, and just left them there to bleed out and die. It didn't matter to him. He just needed to live, and if others needed to die for that to happen- if he needed to make others die for that to happen, he would do so.

And that was exactly why he was stuck with his blade. Always and forever. Because normal kids would have a problem with death. They'd probably throw up at the smell of it. He did the first two times. He also regretted it instantly. He didn't get to eat very often, and vomiting removed the food from his body. It was disgusting, and made him want to vomit again, but for the sake of living, he picked through what he threw up for little clumps of rice and ate it again. Something he would tell nobody ever, but at the very least, he knew he did it to survive, not because he wanted to. After the first two times, he accepted the smell because he needed the food and water he had in his body to stay there if he wanted to live.

In a way, he resented the world. He wondered what he did so wrong to have been born into the life he was. Why hadn't he been given a mother who loved her child so much, she'd stone another white-haired little boy, believing she was defending her baby. Why didn't he get a father who went out and fought for his family, and occasionally came back with lots of love for his wife and child. Why did he not get a sibling at least? Someone who could at least scavenge through the corpses with him, fight to live with him, move and learn to accept death just as he did. It wasn't fair. What did he do so wrong? Why did he have to live like that? Why did he have white hair and red eyes? If he was born with black hair and brown eyes, someone would've taken him in at least! But no, instead, even his appearance was like that of a demon.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

He wasn't quite so upset anymore though. He was living a luxurious life, with three meals a day, a bed to sleep in, and people who spoke to him. He had Shouyo now. And Zura, and even that shorty, Takasugi. Maybe life wasn't bullshitting him that bad after all. Maybe this was it giving back whatever it had taken from him. It felt like he had a family now. His brothers and a father.

Sometimes he didn't know how to deal with it. It was a bit of a sensory overload when he thought too seriously about it. He got stuck in his thoughts sometimes. He would just remember what life was like before he was found and question everything that was going on. Sure, he'd originally believed he'd drawn the short end of the stick in life, but now, now that he was living just a twinge normally, minus the constant state of chaos his mind seemed to be in, what had he done exactly to deserve it?

Could he really say that life took something from him when he'd had nothing in the first place? He probably fucked up really bad and was being punished when he was born the way he was. Maybe resenting the world was just him being selfish and foolish. He didn't deserve Shouyo's kindness, or Zura and Chibisugi's friendship. He didn't belong there, where people laughed and spoke and ate, and play fought. He belonged on a battlefield, killing, destroying, and then looking through the corpses for something to eat.

But then someone; Shouyo, or Zura, or even that annoying Chibisugi would find him, and shake him out of that trance. Remind him that he was gonna be alright. To have someone care about him was something new too. It was weird. It was even weirder that he cared about those three dumbasses too. If anything happened to even one of them, he didn't know what he'd do. He might just go insane. If not, he'd have a mental breakdown and finally just give in to death, who'd been nipping at his heels, telling him he's always welcome to join since the day he could recall being alive.

Just as he felt for his blade, his feelings for his new "family" were confusing. On one hand, he loved it. As he loved feeling powerful and able to protect himself, he loved having a family to protect, and who would protect him in return. People who cared for him, and who he cared for just as much. It was an amazing feeling, like a ride of ecstasy to have those kind of people in his life. On the other hand, he despised it. He hated having to hold a blade. He hated death, and he resented all that surrounded him for simply being the way it was. He hated having to protect someone other than himself. He hated the possibility of willingly giving in to death, the one thing he'd spent his entire life running from and avoiding, just because some other boy, or Shouyo had died. He was half tempted to spit on the idea of family.

His blade, his family. Both were a double edged sword in their own rights, and put together, he was constantly taunted by the two different ideals within him. But he was strong, and ignoring the constant ribbing of those arguing little voices his head wasn't exceptionally difficult.

For now though, he would enjoy the luxury. The food, the beds, the shelter, the family. He would embrace it with open arms.

It was the first place he'd been that didn't smell like death after all.


	3. He loved his family more

**This one is a little shorter. All the chapters are pretty short, but this one is more short. Sorry.**

When Gintoki turned 14, he, Zura, and Chibisugi had followed Shouyo into the Joui war. A few years with a family and a comfortable home had changed Gintoki, even if by just a little. Truly, he would always be a demon-child at heart. But for now, before he was the corpse-eating, white-haired, red-eyed demon, he was Shouyo's son, and Katsura and Takasugi's brother. Nothing was more important than the family he now had. He would protect them with the life he cared so much about. He'd finally resolved that when he gave in, it would be for these people that he go and make love with death. Them and them only.

Being back on the battlefield was strange. It felt almost like home. Albeit, a fucked up, demented home that kind of messed him up in the head- maybe the body too from everything he consumed to survive, but home nonetheless. A place he was used to. Yes, he resolved to die for his family, but a part of him would always keep the first home he ever had- a field of dead soldiers, close to heart. He hated the battlefield. He kind of loved it too. It made him sick to his stomach all while offering a feeling of comfort like "this is where you truly belong". But his real place was with his family. With Shouyo, and Zura, and Chibisugi. With his dad and his irritating brothers, all of which he loved very much anyway.

"What's wrong Gintoki?" Katsura noticed the boy was lost in thought once again. At first, he used to do it a lot. The moment no one was paying attention to him, he would go off into his own little world with this dark expression on his face until someone shook him out of it. He had been getting better recently, but since coming to the battlefield, the white-haired boy had seemed very off. Caught up in his emotions. Gintoki hadn't told him or Takasugi where he'd been before Shouyo-sensei. Shouyo-sensei was the only one who knew how Gintoki lives before coming

"Huh?" Gintoki's eyes widened as he snapped out of the trance. " 'm fine Zura. It's nothing." He ignores the niggling sense that explaining would make things better. He didn't care how haunted he was. Past was past and he would keep himself the person he was to his family by throwing away history as best as he could.

"Doesn't look like nothing. You were doing that thing with your eyes."

"Shut up Chibisugi. I didn't and _don't_ do anything with my eyes. Ever."

"You're lying. What are you keeping from us? You do that thing-the thing where your eyes just get all blank and dark and scary looking! What-are-you- _hiding!_?" Gintoki almost growled. Chibisugi better shut his mouth before he shut it _for_ him. He'd already decided that past was past and history would remain silenced.

"Even if I was hiding something, which I'm _not,_ it's none of your business anyway, Rich boy." Takasugi's eyes widened before narrowing in a viscous glare. Katsura rolled his eyes. These two imbeciles were ridiculous. Gintoki went too far and Takasugi should've known better than to try and push him.

"Gintoki..." Katsura gave him the look. A poor imitation of Shouyo-sensei's _don't_ / _say sorry_ / _stop it,_ look- but he knew Gintoki would give in anyway. The white-haired boy looked guilty enough already when he realized what he said. The only thing holding him back from his apology was pride.

"Sorry Chibisugi." He mumbled, so quietly the other boys could barely hear them. Taking a deep, calming breath, Takasugi relaxed, smiling at his brother.

"You should be." Gintoki could feel the familiar strain of irritation starting to take over as the other boy smirked at him. About to hit that stupid Takasugi, Zura beat him to it, whamming the boy on the head and giving him the same look he'd given Gintoki.

"Shouldn't have tried to force it out of you. Sorry moron." Under his breath, Gintoki muttered that the last part was completely unnecessary, but he was mostly alleviated of his irritation. As Zura and Chibisugi walked ahead of him, Gintoki crossed his arms and smiled at them from behind.

Those were his brothers. They pissed him off like no other. They were utterly unbearable at times. 75% of his time spent with them involved the underlying desire to whip out his blade and do some not-nice things to them. But no matter what, he would always love them. He would love how they accepted him and respected his wishes about keeping quiet about his past. He loved how they were always there no matter where he looked, even when he didn't want them there- especially because more often than not, him not wanting them there meant he actually _needed_ them there. He loved them for giving him the time of day, talking to him, interacting with him. And he loved Shouyo for giving him this kind of life.

"Moron, what're you doing back there? We're leaving- c'mon."

"Shut up Chibisugi!" He grinned widely, running up to them and jumping, wrapping an arm around each of their necks to which they grunted at the sudden weight of the admittedly tallest and most muscular (a nice way of putting heaviest) of the trio suddenly pounced upon them.

These were the only people he loved more than being alive.


	4. He was getting to know the world

**This chapter has rated M themes, but is otherwise rated T still yet. It's slightly longer to make up for the really short chapter last time. To my two reviewers, thank you, I love you guys. Same goes to anyone who followed or favorited my story! I appreciate it so much!**

When Gintoki Sakata entered his first brothel, he was intrigued. The lights all seemed to be shadowed by some sort of translucent fabric, giving the room a colorful, lascivious sort of glow. The entire building was heavily permeated by thick perfumes and incense, and scantily clad women were everywhere. He found he liked it. He much preferred the slightly overwhelming aroma of the brothel to the stench of death on the battlefield, and even the familiar (but extremely male) scent of his family didn't seem quite as pleasant as the smell of the brothel. It smelled like woman. Not the kind of women he was used to- angry mothers or younger girls at the temple school, but all feminine sweetness and sensuality. It was a hormonal teenaged male-ly driven instinct that told him that this scent might've been the greatest aroma he'd ever been around.

He wouldn't lie-he wasn't used to women. At all. He was terrible with the adults in whatever towns he'd visited, and he was okay with the little girls at the temple school, but all in all, he just didn't know how to deal with them. Adults were often cruel, and the little girls had needs he just didn't know how to provide. Play house with them and be the father? What, was he supposed to act like Shouyo and pound them into the ground? Anything past grabbing the cup for them and filling it with water because they couldn't reach was too much for his mind to process. The boys were easier. He could hit them without remorse, and never did they ask him to be their "pretend husband".

"Why hello boys. First time?" A woman with cropped, straight black hair hanging down prettily above her shoulders, and an indigo kimono pushed down to reveal her shoulders and the top clefts of her cleavage approached the three of them. Unsure what to do, he looked to his brothers. Chibisugi looked more out of sorts than he did, and Zura, seemingly the most calm amongst them, was practically a cherry.

"Y-yes ma'am." Zura, their official spokesperson stuttered as he replied, not looking up at the woman. "We've recently joined the war, and some of the older men recommended we come here." The older men had actually told them they were better off losing their virginity then, early on, to a prostitute rather than waiting till later since they'd likely die before puberty was over and done with.

She smiled down like them, a slightly predatory glint in her eye as she eyed them. Gintoki blushed brightly, the red a sharp contrast on his usually pale skin as she eyed him for slightly longer than the other two before winking and telling them to follow along behind her.

The three of them were separated into different rooms and were told to wait to be attended to. Gintoki was nervous. He'd only just recently realized that peeing wasn't the only thing his penis could be used for, but he didn't want to die a pathetic virgin.

Ah... death. When had he become so accepting of it? It felt like just yesterday, his arms were burning and trembling, trying to block an attack for the first time. He could remember the feeling of desperation and helplessness, and just the pure and raw desire of wanting to live. The taste of blood had still been on his tongue, and all his senses had been overwhelmed, the sensation only pushing him further, reminding him constantly that death was calling and he'd be caught if he didn't run.

He remembered those times. It was an awful way to live. He had been struggling to stay alive day after day, and it was a miracle he even managed to. If he wasn't killed in a battle, he would've died by dehydration or starvation, or he could've easily been killed in a village where he was regarded as a demon by the townsfolk. Or even the wildlife he was near constantly as he trotted through battlefields. He remembered pushing through all the struggle, the burn, the pain, every day, telling himself that one day it would all get better and to meet that day, he had to live. Living with Shouyo and Zura and Chibisugi was the life he'd always dreamed of. It was what he pushed himself and fought for. Why was he so accepting of the possibility of death now that he'd reached his goal? It didn't make sense to him.

The screen made a soft creaking sound and a girl entered the room. She wasn't too much older than he was. Eighteen maybe? Platinum blonde hair styled into an elaborate updo and golden eyes half lidded, she wore a kimono similar to the woman who'd greeted them though she seemed much further out of her comfort zone than the first hostess. "I'm Arisa."

Gulping, Gintoki tried to relax his position anyway he could. "Gintoki."

"Rather young aren't you?" She smiled slightly at him. Calming down a bit at her ease, Gintoki allowed his signature snark (that had been absent for the duration of his time in the brothel) to come crawling back as he smirked.

"I could say the same to you." She bristled slightly.

"If I'm old enough to be married off, I'm plenty old enough to do my job." She harrumphed, settling next to him.

"If I'm old enough to fight a war, I'm old enough to enjoy myself." He responded in stride. "But how old are you anyway?"

Grinning almost smugly, she replied. "16."

"Don't feel all that special. I'm pretty close to you in age."

"So, war huh?" She asked, pouring some sake for him. Gintoki almost winced. She sure got straight to the point. Maybe other men liked bragging about their achievements on the field, but his relationship with war was different from that of other men.

"War."

"You a child soldier?" One of her hands gently held the kimono sleeve out of the way as she lifted the sake cup to his lips. It was his first time drinking. Taking the liquid in, he cringed slightly at the taste.

"Some'in like that." His head felt lighter than it did before. "Relax a little. We're almost the same age, you can skip all the formal stuff." She sighed in relief and her posture was suddenly much more comfortable looking.

"You want to tell me why a cute kid like you is off on a battlefield? You'd fit in better in a small town school-can I have some of that sake?" Gintoki nodded, handing her the cup. She really did get comfortable fast.

"Aren't brothel-workers" he didn't want to say prostitute, "supposed to avoid getting drunk on the job."

"This is my last shift and I'm done for the night. Anyway, answer my question." Gintoki snorted. What happened to the respectful "I'm Arisa" and the whole show of keeping her sleeve out of the way as she helped him with the drink.

"Ever heard of the corpse-eating demon?" He had a lot to say. So much he wanted to tell someone. He'd just never found a who. He'd probably never see this girl again, and who did she have to tell?

She nodded. "A little boy right? He eats the bodies of dead soldiers and always holds a sword close to chest. If he catches you watching him while he eats, he cuts you down and eats you too." Gintoki's eyebrow raised. For one, she'd forgotten some major details- the demon, had white hair and red eyes, and for another, he hadn't realized how his tale had evolved.

"What do you think of the demon?"

She paused for a moment, frowning. "Probably some Amanto scum who finds joy in human suffering."

Gintoki smiled softly. "Or a little boy just trying to survive." She looked at him with wonder written all over her face.

"Are you an alien lover or something?" Her lip curled in disgust. Gintoki wondered how this girl ever got her job, she displayed her opinions too brazenly.

"No, but I figure not all of them are horrible. It's not something I like to think about when someone is on the other end of my blade."

"Don't talk like that. All of them are scum. You don't need to feel guilty for killing them. Just think about the countless humans whose lives you saved." Gintoki nodded silently. "So why ask about the demon anyway?"

Gintoki laughed softly, his voice bitter and full of mirth. "The corpse-eating demon is fake. It's not an amanto."

"And how would you know? He hasn't been seen in a few years."

Looking her straight in the eyes and mustering up all the confidence he could, "it was me." Her eyes widened before she burst out laughing, much to Gintoki's dismay. Maybe sharing his problems was a bad idea after all.

"S-sorry, kid, what was that?"

"Never mind, just gimme some sake and let's have sex."

" 'ey kid, don't be like that. Tell me, I won't laugh this time. I promise."

Eyes narrowing, Gintoki didn't know hey he was going to trust her, but he did. "When I was younger, I was a scavenger."

"A scavenger?" One slender eyebrow tilted upward, incredulous.

"I had to look through the corpses for something to eat. I would've starved and died if I hadn't."

She nodded. "Continue." She took a deep gulp of sake.

Gintoki could feel his temper rising. This fool seriously couldn't connect the dots? "One day I got caught in a battle. It was terrifying. It stunk. You probably would've fainted and then been killed." She protested softly. "All I wanted was to live."

"It sounds like it was an awful way of life." Gintoki chuckled softly, though he found no humor in the situation. She was right though. It was awful.

"Sure you can stomach the rest?" She nodded.

"As I was looting the corpses the next time round, I took the first sword I saw. I was so afraid. All I wanted was to survive, and all of a sudden I had a blade in my hands and I had to choose between dying or fighting and being part of the smell."

"... the smell of war?"

"Of war, of death, suffering, beliefs, honor, glory. It's a lot of things that will always equate to nothing but foul in the end." Genuine pity reflected in her eyes and Gintoki tried not to wince, not knowing where he was going with this. "I fought. It was... hard. It hurt a lot and I barely made it."

"But you had a sword now," he scowled now. How stupid was this girl?

"So? Those men were double my size, triple my strength and much more motivation to kill. I wanted to live and they wanted to kill. Just the difference in our goals was enough to give them an advantage." It was the sake talking now, he knew. After several cups and more than half the bottle on his own, there was no way his usually logistical mind would allow him to blab this much no matter the situation.

"But I survived. And I kept on surviving. Just by the skin of my teeth did I not die fighting. But worse than that, was trying not to die of hunger or dehydration." She watched him, not saying a word. "And one day, people began to call me the corpse-eating demon." Her eyes widened.

"You? You're the corpse eating demon? But you're adorable, and were probably even cuter as a kid. No one adopted you?"

Gintoki sighed. "Take a good long look at me." She did so, eyes roaming about him. "What color is my hair?"

"...white."

"What color are my eyes?"

"Red."

"-blood red actually, I've looked in a mirror enough times to know so. What do you think of those colors?"

"They look good."

"Not my features, just the colors on a human being. It's not normal. It's even a little scary isn't it?"

She paused for a moment, looking back at him. "You don't need to answer that, I know the truth. I've known for a long time. I looked like a demon. I sat on corpses I looted and ate and held that sword close to chest because it was what protected me."

"Did you ever try to... to join a village, maybe an orphanage?" Gintoki scoffed. She didn't seem to get the point.

"At first I did. But I was too strange. Too different. All I ever got out of visiting towns and villages was stones thrown at my head."

"It sounds like you have a valid reason to hate the world." She said, putting down the same cup and pulling a pin out of her hair, letting it down. Gintoki watched as platinum gold waves flowed down slender shoulders. He gulped.

Slowly, she stalked toward him; crawling to him with her bust in full sight. She crawled over him as he laid back. Placing a hand on his face, she leaned down to his ear. "Does it hurt?" She rasped into his ear. He shuddered.

"Every day."

"I'll make the pain go away.


End file.
